Mama, her mama, me, who didn't become mama, yet, Women.
Tenderness and weakness.
Oh, the wondrous world of women, who nurtured my rebellious spirit.
They created me, they are not free, but strong, afraid to get up and leave, but smart. Those who constantly decorate and improve, create beauty.
Oh, beauty, I'm looking for you in every fold of society, in every fold of thought, in any drapery of touch.
Where are you, beauty?
I want to possess by you. I want to have you. I want you to be everywhere in everything.
Do I have to pay by blood to free myself, to surround myself with only beauty?
To have the freedom to choose?
To have my voice?
Not to be afraid?
So just to love, and not to think and choose?
Will I be the same as my mother and her mother?
Text written 17th of May 2019 in Stockholm, Sweden
2341 km away from my mama and her mama